


Fashion + Sanitizer + Asphyxiation

by Captain_Kieren



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Acrophobia, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asphyxiation, Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, How is that not a tag, Humor, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Mission Fic, One Shot, Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016), Rating for Language, Team as Family, Whump, Whumptober, cold open, falling, helicopter parent jack dalton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kieren/pseuds/Captain_Kieren
Summary: A mission in Paris goes sideways. Good thing Mac has Jack looking out for him.OrThe one where Mac jumps off a building then gets strangled by an angry bad guy.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	Fashion + Sanitizer + Asphyxiation

_**P A R I S . . .** _

_**C O S T U M E G A L A . . .** _

Oh, for the love of Bruce Willis, this place is full of freaks.

Tugging uncomfortably at the pretentious turtle neck squeezing his throat, Jack casts an eye around the crowd of fashion weirdos swarming all around him, not a soul even bothering to dance to the jaw-pounding music. Who could blame them, though? Whatever this electro-garbage is, it ain’t no Black Sabbath, that’s for damn sure.

Not that these folks exactly look like Black Sabbath fans.

From his post by the ice sculpture at the buffet, Jack sees a dude in a grey vest with square shoulder so disproportionately huge it makes the little guy wearing it look like a quarterback – and not in a good way. There’s also the woman by the stairs wearing a lime-green ball gown made of fabric that billows around her like she’s the plastic stick in the middle of the huge plume of cotton candy. Everyone in this hotel is dressed like they forgot it was Halloween and had to MacGyver their way into a costume using only tissue paper and elbow pipes.

Seriously, and people accuse _him_ of having a bad fashion sense?

Whatever. Jack curls into himself a bit, moving his mouth closing to the comms piece tucked into his sweater.

He opens his mouth to speak, then stops as a waiter passes. Jack gives him a friendly nod and plucks one of the tiny plates of…whatever this is off his tray before going back to his mic.

“How we doing, Mac?” he whispers, popping the snack into his mouth, then instantly gagging and spitting it into his hand. “God, what the _hell_ was that?”

 _“What’s wrong?”_ Mac’s voice comes back, staticky over comms.

Jack heaves a dramatic sigh. “The food, man! I knew this place’d be crawling with high-society freakshows but I at least expected the food to be good! I don’t even know what I put in my mouth just now. Tasted like I licked the inside of an aquarium.”

 _“Um, pretty sure that was avocado wrapped in seaweed,”_ Riley says.

At first, Jack doesn’t know how she’s able to see him; then, he notices the black hemisphere on the ceiling. Security camera. Riley’s eye in the sky.

Jack gives it a wink, then looks down at the fishy goo in his hand and twists up his face. “Well, it was disgusting.” He looks around and, finding no trash can, wipes his palm on a napkin and wedges it under the whole-roasted pig.

 _“To answer your question,”_ Mac says, bringing them back on task. _“I’m almost there.”_

“Good,” Jack replies quietly, eyeing their target through the crowd. “Avery’s busy for the moment, but he’s been working his way toward the stairs for the last ten minutes. Luckily, he gets keeps getting’ stopped by admirers.” Currently, the fashion-designer-turned-national-traitor is exchanging solemn words with a woman in some kind of get-up that looks like a…stack of fuzzy tires.

Seriously, what the hell?

Over Mac’s end of comms, there’s a yanking sound and then a sharp _snap_ , and Mac grunts softly. _“That’s not great, Jack. I need a few more minutes.”_

Jack nods, picking at the itchy fabric on his chest. “It’s cool, man. Some guy wearing a Bane-mask just joined the conversation. Avery’s good and stuck for the minute, and I got eyes on him. You just worry about what you gotta do.”

_“Right. Riley, how’s the door access coming?”_

_“Just about there, Mac. The security on this place is a lot stronger than I anticipated, but I’m almost through.”_

_“Great. As soon as you’ve got it, give me—”_ Mac’s words abruptly cut out with a _crack!_ And then the piercing wail of disrupted comms.

Jack cringes, his heart rate jackrabbiting up to about a hundred. He yanks the earpiece out as discreetly as he can, giving it a shake, and then putting it back in. His voice comes out louder than he wanted it to, but thankfully the music in here is so loud, it doesn’t matter. No one can hear him. “Mac?” he says. “ _Mac?_ ”

_“It’s no good, Jack. His comms are out.”_

“Yeah…” He scans the room. Avery is still caught up with tire-dress and Bane-mask, so Jack backs away from the buffet into the deep alcove by the bathrooms. A few guests linger here, adjusting make up and wigs, but Jack brushes past them, heading into the nearest restroom.

It’s a one-toilet kind of bathroom with a double sink and glossy tile floors. Light, relaxing music is funneled in through speakers, a much-appreciated break from the music from outside, which he can still feel in his heels. “Something’s up, Riles,” he whispers, locking the bathroom door. “Can you get eyes on our boy?”

 _“Looking.”_ She sounds about as concerned as he is, and Jack can hear her fingers hammering on the keys of her laptop parked in their van. _“Hang on…”_

Jack freezes at her tone. “What? What’s up?”

 _“Oh, shit…”_ A hand audibly passes over Riley’s mouth, and Jack is bouncing now, his pulse racing. _“Okay, unless fall fashion is Kevlar and combat boots, we’ve been made, Jack.”_

“Shit,” Jack agrees, dropping to one knee and rolling up his pantleg to reveal the pistol tucked there in a discreet holster. He pops the clip, automatically counts the rounds, then snaps it back in and flips the safety off. “Riley, do you have eyes on Mac?”

_“Not… Yes! Yes, I do! Third floor. He just ducked into a janitor’s closet.”_

Slipping the gun into his waistband, Jack throws open the bathroom door just as a gentleman in huge plastic polka-dots tries the knob. He startles, jumping back as Jack blasts into the hall, marching now. “How’s he looking?”

 _“Okay for now,”_ Riley says, sounding more at ease. _“And he’s got the case.”_

Jack allows himself a grin. “Atta-boy, hoss,” he mumbles. “Don’t you worry, Jack’s coming.”

* * *

Okay. Admittedly, this isn’t ideal.

Prestlyn Avery’s personal security caught him just as he cracked the vault. He can still feel the butt of the rifle cracking against his cheek, and his comms are busted, but Mac managed to slip away, case in hand, before they were able to grab him.

Now, it’s a matter of sprinting. Hard.

“STOP!” the guard behind him shouts.

Mac declines, hanging an abrupt left down the next corridor.

By now, Jack and Riley will know something’s up and Riley will go looking for him on the cameras. Once she’s got a lock on him, she’ll send Jack as back-up – so, until then, he just needs to keep his head down somewhere it can’t get a bullet shot into it.

If he recalls the blueprints of the floor correctly, there should be a janitor’s closet just ahead. It’s not exactly Fort Knox, but it’s better than keeping on with this Scooby-Doo chase he’s on right now.

Throwing himself inside the narrow door, Mac pulls it shut just in time. Under the crack of the door, three watery shadows go by, and he can hear muffled voices passing in a hurry.

“He’s around somewhere,” one voice growls. “Lock down the floor.”

And then they’re gone.

Reclining his head against the wall, Mac breathes a sigh of relief, letting some of the tension and adrenaline wash away. That stuff might be good for bonuses in speed and strength, and for masking pain, but it’s not good for thinking. And thinking is his best weapon.

Okay. Positives and negatives.

Positives: He has the case containing all the sensitive documents that Avery stole from the French government, so the mission is still safe.

Negatives: Somewhere along the line, his team got made, so their timeline just got pushed up and exfil hasn’t arrived yet. He’s cornered in this closet. His comms are down. And there’s a medium-sized army patrolling the whole floor looking for him, and anyone who comes to save him. Namely, Jack. Oh yeah, that’s assuming he can get up here before the security guys can make it to their office and put the floor on lockdown. And even if he does, they’re gonna need a new way out.

The closet is dark, but he gropes his way quietly to the metal shelves. He doesn’t dare use his Swiss Army Knife’s flashlight, so he settles on squinting at labels and boxes through the gloom, making a mental inventory of what he’s got to work with in here. Mostly cleaning chemicals and spare toilet paper. Useful stuff, yes, but he isn’t quite sure what to do with it yet.

Another group of heavy bootfalls pass outside the closet. Mac holds his breath until they’re gone. When the coast is clear, he snaps open the screwdriver tool on his knife and gets to work.

Another positive: Matty won’t be able to snipe at him for improvising because technically, he’s done this before.

* * *

_“At the top of the stairs, hang a right. The closet is at the end of the hall.”_

“Copy,” Jack murmurs down the sights of his gun. He can hear distant voices on alert, but no excitement. No shooting or alarms. Still, he moves fast.

At the top of the stairwell, he nudges the door open with his foot, then sweeps the hall before taking that right. Behind him, he hears a soft _click_ , and when he looks back, a keypad next to the stairwell door is lit up with a red bulb. Locked.

Awesome.

When he gets to the closet door, Jack presses an ear against the wood. Sweeping the area for baddies one more time, he knocks lightly and the door opens.

Mac’s left cheek is an angry, red welt that’s already turning purple, and Jack hisses in sympathy at the sight of it.

“Damn, son, what’d they hit you with? A truck?”

Mac gives him a thin smile as he disappears back inside the dark closet, remerging with a metal ladder, a big bottle of hand sanitizer, and a bunch of toilet rolls. “A rifle, actually,” he says, shutting the door. “Give me your ear piece.”

Jack pops the receiver out of his ear and hands it over.

“Riley,” Mac says, hefting the lightweight ladder forged from the metal storage shelves onto his shoulder.

_“Hey, Mac. You had us worried for a minute there.”_

“Yeah, sorry. My ear piece got busted.” As he whispers, he and Jack start moving, Mac sticking to his side like a piece of gum. “Listen, these guys have the floor locked down, so we’re going to need a new exit strategy. Wait about five minutes, and then I need you to move the van to that alley on south wall of the building and open the doors. Jack and I are gonna be coming in hot.”

_“Got it. Five minutes starting now.”_

Mac hands the ear piece back to Jack and goes back to juggling the armload of crap he’s got with him.

Taking his cue from Mac’s convo with Riley, Jack leads them down the corridor heading to the south end of the building, scanning the hall in front of them with broad sweeps of his pistol.

“Hey, Mac, you know I have complete faith in your MacGyver-ing abilities,” he says, eyeing the flimsy aluminum ladder. “But we’re on the third floor, buddy. If your plan is to have us climb down on that ladder, I think you’ll us about two stories too high.”

“Trust me,” Mac says, balancing his armload. “I have a plan.”

“Excellent.” Jack grins. “Music to my ears, man.”

They’ve reached the last room, suite 359, facing the south wall. It requires a keycard to get in, but Mac only has to pop the reader’s plastic face off and fiddle with the electronics inside. A thin finger of smoke and some electrical snapping later, and the light bulb turns green and they’re greeted with the sound of the door unlocking.

“Nice work, kid.”

_“Uh, guys?”_ Riley says, sounding urgent. _“Whatever you’re planning to do, you better do it now. You’ve got incoming!”_

Jack whirls just as the first of Avery’s goons appears at the end of the hall.

“FREEZE!” the Kevlar-coated creeper shouts.

“Mac,” Jack says coolly, raising his hands in a fake surrender.

As the goon starts to advance, tipping his chin down to alert his buddies via comm piece, Mac kicks into gear.

He shoves the door open and dives inside, taking his stuff with him.

Jack fires off a couple of rounds just to keep the goon back until he can back inside and lock up behind him.

The guy scrambles, shots pinging off the walls on either side of him. His first volley of return fire sprays the closed door.

In the hall, boots are pounding the tile floor, advancing from several sides.

Jack flattens against the wall near the door, pistol by his chest. “Mac? Tell me this is an express-type plan and not a _I’m gonna need some time_ type one.”

“Yup!” Mac says, already on his knees, working on whatever the hell he’s doing. “This’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Baby Jesus,” Jack grumbles. Then, “Riley? What’s the situation in the hall?”

_“Not great, Jack. Avery’s guys are piling up right outside. They’re going to breach you any minute.”_

Gritting his teeth, Jack looks at Mac. “How are we coming, man? Riley says we gotta go now or we’re gonna end up Swiss cheese.”

“Almost…” Mac rips off another long strip of toilet paper, wads it up, and soaks it with the sanitizer. There are about forty wads now, all stinking to high heaven of alcohol. Mac gets up and, much to Jack’s confusion, starts chucking them at the door, the walls, and the floor like a kid with spit balls in school.

“Uh, Mac? What are we doing right now?”

“Buying us some time.” He hucks the last wad, then busts open the room window with his elbow. “Hand sanitizer is mostly alcohol, therefore extremely flammable. A spark from your gun or even static electricity can ignite it.”

Jack blinks. “So, just to be clear: we’re setting the room on fire?”

Mac looks at him, blonde hair askew and damp with sweat. He grins. “Don’t worry. The hotel’s got a sprinkler system and fire travels upward. None of the guests downstairs are in any danger.” He motions for Jack to join him at the window. “The fire is just to buy us time to get to the roof.”

Jack peers out and sees the fire escape beneath them. “And the ladder?”

“You’ll see.”

They climb out onto the metal steps just as Avery’s goons open fire into the room. Light from the hall knives into the dark suite, and a second later – _FWOOSH!_

The heat is suffocating even from here. Jack cringes, but then Mac’s hand is on his shirt collar, pulling him up the stairs.

“We’ve only got a few minutes,” Mac yells down. “Come on!”

Inside, there are shouting voices, confused yelling.

Mac and Jack make their break from the roof, toting the ladder between them. When they’re there, Jack sprints for the roof access stairwell, covering the door while Mac takes his ladder to the edge of the ledge, flopping it down so it covers the gap between this roof and the roof of the high-end restaurant next door. Both happen to be homes to fancy-ass rooftop lounges and bars.

Problem is, Jack can hear clanging on the fire escape below them, as well as voices rising form the roof access stairs behind him. In a few seconds, they’re going to be surrounded.

_“Jack? We’ve got good news and bad news,”_ Riley says.

He wipes the sweat from his face. “Well, what’s the good news?”

_“I’ve hacked the hotel security and locked the roof access to buy you a few extra seconds.”_

That noted, Jack sprints across the roof to Mac. “And the bad news?”

_“While I was hacking them, I also took the liberty of getting into their comms system. They warned Avery, and he’s ditching the hotel in a black SUV right now. Headed west to the airport. Guys, if he gets out of the country, we might never find him again.”_

Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Matty is always listening in on their missions. She doesn’t usually speak up, so when her voice suddenly peaks in Jack’s ear, he jumps, startling Mac.

_“You guys just focus on getting out of there with the documents. I’m sending another team to intercept Avery.”_

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack says. He peers over the edge of the building, down the three-story fall to the asphalt below. Then he looks sideways at Mac. “There any reason we came up here instead of taking the fire escape down to the parking lot?”

“Not really,” Mac says, so seriously that Jack almost doesn’t realize he’s being sarcastic. “Just the fact that the fire escapes on both sides of the building let out in the parking lot, which—as you remember from when we arrived—is jam-packed with cars, limos, guests, and photographers.”

“All right, smarty-pants,” Jack grumbles.

“If we want to get out of here in a relatively quick fashion, this is the best way.”

“I said, all right!” Jack huffs, jabbing a finger at the ladder bridge. “Go on, then!”

_“Hey, I’m seeing about thirty guys making their way up the fire escape to you. Get your asses across that bridge, now!”_ Riley yells.

“Going!” Jack assures her. He levels his gun at the top of the metal steps, ready to punch a bullet into the first head that pops up. Meanwhile, he can hear Mac curse quietly under his breath—probably noticing how high up they are—before the first gunmen make it to the roof.

In the end, they don’t have time to make it to the other roof.

Jack grabs Mac by his shirt and shoves him out of the way of the volley. He lays down cover fire while they scramble to safety, then quickly scans the kid for hits. He checks out.

_“Jack? Mac? What the hell is going on up there!”_

_“Jack!”_ It’s Matty this time, sounding as alarmed and as pissed as he’s ever heard her, but he’s too busy shooting to talk, so he yanks the earpiece out and tosses it to Mac.

“Sorry, guys, we’re a bit busy!” Mac says, raising his voice over the gunfire.

There are creeps moving up, trying to get them covered on two sides. Jack does his best to discourage that, but he has to conserve ammo. He’s only got three clips. Well, two clips and three rounds left in his current one.

“What’s Matty saying?” Jack demands, pausing to let some of the adrenaline burn off.

“She’s got back up coming,” Mac says, wiping his forehead. “But they won’t be here for ten minutes. Can we last up here for that long?”

Mac’s blue eyes are steady, his jaw set. He’s always been excellent at controlling his face, but over the years, Jack has become an expert at speaking MacGyver-language. His nerves aren’t in his eyes or his expressions; they’re in his hands. And right now, Mac’s fingers are playing an invisible piano on his thigh.

Someone needs to put a paper clip in the kid’s hands, stat – or he’s gonna end up with finger-sized bruises on his thighs.

The fact that he’s just as freaked as Jack doesn’t do much to make _him_ feel better, but it does activate that good old Dad Instinct that makes Jack grin.

“Hell yeah, man. I can do this all day.” He turns back and fires off a few more rounds just for show. Then, as he ejects the empty clip to snap in a new one, he adds, “Hey, ask Matty if her backup can stop for Starbucks on the way!”

Mac shakes his head, but he’s smiling, which is better than the invisible piano. “Did you hear that Matty?” he asks. There’s a pause, then Mac shrugs and stands up, pressing his back against their cover. “Yeah, we’ll be okay. But just in case – Riley? Forget what I said. Close the doors and park the van a couple blocks down the street. _Don’t_ get made. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

As soon as Mac is done, he switches his comms off and looks at Jack. “Okay, for real, how long can we last up here before you run dry?”

Hesitantly, Jack says, “If I conserve my ammo? Probably five or six minutes, tops. I gotta keep ‘em back, man. If I wait too long between cover fires, they’ll get all around us.”

Mac rakes a hand through his hair. Jack can see his wheels turning.

“I don’t suppose you can make me more ammo out of, like…concrete dust and bird feathers?”

Mac huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry, man.” Then, he lifts his chin and Jack sees that familiar spark in his eyes. An idea igniting like a flame. “But maybe I can— _JACK!_ ”

Jack whirls just a second too late. The damn bastard snuck up on them!

The butt of the goon’s rifle cracks against Jack’s jaw, sending him stumbling back, the taste of blood exploding in his mouth.

Then, another shooter descends on them – this one jumping on Mac, but the little guy is slippery. He jams an elbow into the creep’s throat and gets a hand over his Uzi before a third gunman appears.

There’s a sickening _whump_ of fist on flesh, then Mac hits the ground, clutching his midsection. He wheezes, but looks ready to spring back up. And so is Jack until…

One of the useless, disgusting pieces of human garbage reaches down and grabs a fistful of Mac’s hair, pulling mercilessly until he’s stumbling to his feet, yelping as his head is wrenched back. Then, the asshole slides a shiny, silver knife out of his belt and presses the point of it to the hollow of Mac’s throat. The type of knife you might use to skin a crocodile, it’s so huge.

“I wouldn’t move, Mr. Dalton,” the asshole says, pulling hard on Mac’s hair for emphasis.

And then it hits him. _Mr. Dalton?_

Shit. Their cover’s more blown than they thought.

* * *

The point of the knife is jabbing painfully into Mac’s throat, and the gunman—who he’s beginning to suspect might not be official hotel security—has his fist clenched hard in his hair. Any attempt to twist away or strike back would only get Mac further tangled up in the man, and likely get his throat slit.

Not to mention the fact that they’re now hopelessly surrounded.

Jack is on his knees, hands halfway in the air. The defiance on his face is as clear as his nose, but his bruised jaw is turning from scarlet to purple fast, and there’s blood in his teeth.

Comms are deadly silent, which means Matty and Riley are in full freak-out. Probably working in overdrive to get them help.

Right on cue, police sirens pierce the air and a few helmet heads turn side to side, wondering whether the noise is for them or not.

Mac shifts his weight with the swiveling movements of his captor.

In the seconds of confusion caused by the sound, Mac meets his partner’s steely gaze.

Jack still has his gun. They haven’t disarmed him yet.

If he’s careful… Well, what other choice do they have?

Mac nods minutely. And braces himself.

Jack reacts like a lightning bolt. In a second flat, he’s on his feet and a bullet hole explodes in the shoulder next to Mac’s head, then another in the leg just shy of Mac’s own thigh.

They go toppling backwards, Mac on top of the gunman, and then all hell breaks loose.

Bullets crisscross in the air, the deafening racket making Mac’s head throb and his ears scream. In the initial exchange, he has no choice but to curl up and protect his head, still cuddling rather intimately with the guy who had a knife to his throat a second ago. Fortunately, he’s a bit busy right now trying not to bleed out from his punctured femoral artery.

Mac rolls away, flinching as dust and gun smoke spurt through the air. There are bullet casings landing around him like rice at a wedding.

He grabs his captor’s absurdly huge hunting knife and makes a beeline for cover before the shooters remember he’s here.

Back pressed against the hard concrete of a planter box, Mac’s head swings back and forth like pendulum, desperately searching for some kind of plan. He finds one a second later…but Jack isn’t going to like it.

Okay, correction: _Jack_ will think it’s awesome. _Bodyguard Jack_ is going to kill him. Assuming they both survive…

Oh, well. It’s now or never!

Gripping the knife, Mac breaks from his cover, legs pumping as fancy lounge parasols get shredded to ribbons on one side of him, and martini glasses from the bar explode on the other side.

His boots are sliding in glass and dust now. He reaches the flag pole, his shoes crunching from the bits of debris stuck in the tread, but he drops down instantly, taking out his Swiss Army Knife and laying the hunting knife aside for now.

While he works, he casts wide-eyed looks at Jack, struggling to find him through the chaos. It looks like he’s in cover behind the walls of the stairwell, and doing a hell of a job holding his own – but he can’t do this much longer. Sooner or later, he’s going to run out of ammo.

Probably sooner, rather than later.

Thankfully, however, the flag pole cooperates – and in a few seconds, he’s got the enormous French banner in his lap, practically drowning in it.

It takes more than a few more seconds to get knots tied into it, and with every passing moment, Mac’s heart rate increases. Jack’s cover shots are growing fewer and further in between. He’s definitely on his last clip now. If Mac had to guess, he’d say he only has about three or four shots left. If that.

Which means, this will have to be good enough.

Returning to the flag pole, Mac goes to the screws at its base, jams in his screwdriver tool, and yanks them hard to the left. The high, steel pole gives a warning shriek as it begins to tip, then Mac twists one more time and it goes sailing down – right on top of three or four of the gunmen.

The rest scatter away, momentarily in shock.

Mac takes that opportunity to race in, dragging the flag-turned-rope behind him. He aims at the nearest shooter, who happens to be standing the perfect distance from the edge of the roof.

_Here we go!_

Tackling the man around his waist, Mac throws them both over the ledge.

Tangled together, they fall, hurting at light speed toward the pavement.

* * *

Jack can’t believe what he’s seeing.

When he spots Mac, racing like a bat outta hell in his direction, his first thought is: _The kid’s got a plan! It’s about damn time!_

But Mac doesn’t run to him.

Instead, he runs straight to the gunman closest to him and…

Oh, shit.

_Oh, FUCK!_

Just before Mac topples over the edge, Jack hears him yell, “JACK, COME ON!”

* * *

_Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!_

_SHIT, THIS SUCKS!_

The weightlessness is the worst part. His stomach flops and rolls, pushing up into his throat as the wind blasts against his face. Beneath him, the shooter he took with him screams, but Mac can’t imagine how he has the air to do it. His own throat is so closed up with terror that he couldn’t scream even if he _was_ intending to die right now.

As fortune has it, though, the flag isn’t as long as it looked when he was tying it and securing it through the bars of the fence surrounding the edge of the roof.

Their gut-twisting fall is cut abruptly short as the tether around Mac’s waist _yanks,_ tugging them to a sudden stop.

It also serves to push out the last of Mac’s remaining oxygen so his vision flashes with spots, the tight fabric cutting into his waist with enough pressure to crack bone.

The shooter Mac grabbed only stays suspended in his arms for a moment before slipping out and falling the rest of the way down. Fortunately for him, it’s probably not high enough of a drop to kill him (probably) and he lands in an open dumpster that will (probably) break his fall.

_“Mac! MAC!”_ Matty is yelling in his ear. She must have called his name a few times because she’s sounding more pissed by the second. _“MACGYVER! RESPOND, NOW!”_

“Ahhh—here,” he wheezes, fighting to inhale as the rope cuts into his airways. His hands are dumb and clumsy as he works on untying the knot keeping him aloft. “I’m here,” he repeats. “I’m not dead—yet.”

There’s a pause of Matty catching her breath. Then, _“Did you just jump off the building?”_

“Yeah…” He heaves a breathy laugh that leaves him cringing. “I did.”

_“And now what?”_ she demands. _“Dalton’s still up there!”_

“Not for long…” Mac peers up just as the shape of Jack’s head appears over the lip of the roof, looking down. He fires off a couple more rounds to buy himself some time to climb over, then begins his rapid and slippery descend down the fabric of the flag rope.

_Thank God,_ Mac thinks, then goes back to freeing himself. He manages it a moment later, falling the (relatively) short distance to the ground.

On a scale of one-to-ten, his landing only hurts at about a five or six. Which, all things considered, is pretty good.

_“Mac?”_ Riley says, voice high and tight with concern. _“You okay?”_

“Yeah,” he grunts, picking himself up. His whole body feels like one, giant bruise, but nothing seems to be broken (shocking) and he isn’t bleeding anywhere (unbelievable).

Jack is descending steadily, and the shooters on the roof are probably ditching the area before either the cops or their backup arrives, so Mac lets himself double over and breathe for a minute. The weight of the case of documents hangs from his belt loop, thudding against his leg.

_“Where are you guys? I don’t have eyes on you,”_ Riley says. _“Where am I picking you up?”_

“Uh…” Mac straightens, peering out the end of the alleyway. It looks like it lets out onto a busy street. He starts relaying details to Riley, but that’s when Jack’s voice—still several feet overhead—yells out to him.

“MAC! Watch your six!”

He whirls, but too late. The shooter he thought was unconscious from their semi-controlled descent and then fall into the dumpster is now awake and charging at him.

He collides into Mac with the force of a truck, sending them sprawling onto the asphalt, and, oh _damn,_ is this really the same guy Mac tackled? He seems bigger now. And heavier. And a lot angrier.

Mac isn’t a particularly small dude - despite Jack’s jeering about it. He’s pretty average so far as height and weight goes, but he doesn’t stand a chance pinned under this monster’s immense weight, with his lead-pipe arms and vice-grip hands making a very direct attack on Mac’s throat.

When the hands first close around his neck, Mac’s heart rate rockets. He does everything they teach you to do in training: he puts up his knees and tries breaking the arms away; he tries rolling to flip the guy off him. Nothing works. The guy on top of him just squeezes harder, the face in the helmet shaking with the strain, eyes wild, cheeks red with fury.

* * *

Jack hits the ground on his feet, the vibrations going all the way up into his spine. It hurts, but he can shake it off, and right now, the more important thing is Mac – pinned under a big Hulk of a dude. The kid’s fighting, but it’s a losing battle, and his kicks are already getting weaker.

“Hey, dick!” Jack shouts, marching.

The Hulk turns his head, sneering through his fogged-up helmet. There’s a flash in his eyes as he notices Jack coming closer, visibly mad as a hornet. “Freeze!” the Hulk yells back in a thick accent, twisting around and pulling Mac with him so the kid is once again being used as a human shield. Only now, the guy’s elbow is around his neck, squeezing hard.

Mac’s face is twisted up, his mouth opening and closing, but Jack can hear him wheezing from here. He isn’t getting any air.

Jack levels his gun at the Hulk. “Let him go.”

The Hulk growls, jerking Mac around as if to show that he’s got him. “Drop your weapon,” he commands. “Or I’ll break his neck.”

Jack’s hands go cold. The gun was a bluff anyway. Clip’s empty; and it sure as hell looks like this dude is capable of snapping a neck as skinny as Mac’s.

Plus, there’s the fact that the kid’s face is going white and his eyes are starting to flutter.

“Okay! Okay.” Jack slowly lowers his pistol to the ground, kicking it away. “Let him go,” he says as calmly as he can. When the Hulk hesitates, he adds, “Trust me, man. That kid there is a lot more trouble than he’s worth to you. You off him and you’re gonna have a whole mess of pissed off secret agents after your ass.”

The Hulk scoffs and says something that manages to sound crude and vulgar, even if French.

“Come on, man,” Jack goes on, soothing him. “You don’t gotta do this. I already surrendered.” He raises his hands higher, to make his point.

The Hulk’s arm tightens around Mac’s throat, hands angling to snap his neck.

Jack sees it, and lunges – but not before a pair of black SUVs come barreling down the road, tires screeching.

The SUV doors slam open and the Hulk doesn’t even have time to make good on his promise to kill Mac before he’s swarmed with a half a dozen armed and armored Phoenix agents. They wrestle him off Mac, pinning him on his stomach with his arms twisted behind his back, shouting orders for him to stay still while the team from the other van bursts into the hotel to apprehend the rooftop shooters.

Matty’s backup!

Jack surges forward, peeling Mac out of the frenzy, and dragging him to a safe distance. He isn’t moving, which is eerie, but Jack makes the excuse that he’s probably in shock. He’ll come around in a minute.

Safely far away from the struggle, Jack lays the kid on his back, and kneels next to him.

Mac’s face is white, his lips parted and a dangerous shade of pale-blue. Jack shakes him, pats his cheeks.

“Mac? Hey, Mac. Come on, bud…”

From Mac’s ear, there’s a murmuring sound. The comms. He takes it out and puts it in his own ear just as Matty finishes repeating Mac’s name for what sounds like probably the dozenth time.

“Matty, it’s Jack,” he says. “Hey, uh…” He’s still trying to rouse Mac, tapping his cheeks harder now, shaking him by his shoulders, pounding his back, anything to get him to take a breath. “You better send a medic our way. Mac’s down.”

He’s trying to stay calm, but it’s damn hard. Mac’s head lulls to the side. His limbs are dead weight and cool to the touch.

_“Copy,”_ Matty says. _“MedEvac is on its way, Jack. Tell me what’s going on.”_

“One of those assholes strangled the poor kid within an inch of his life,” Jack says, lifting Mac’s chin and pinching his nose. Jack gives him a good breath, then sits back, searching him for signs of life. “He has a pulse,” he says. “But he’s not breathing…”

_“Start CPR, no compressions,”_ Matty advises.

“Already doin’ it.” Jack gives him another breath, his head starting to get light. “How long until that medic gets here?”

_“They’re five minutes out.”_

A slamming door registers to Jack’s ears as he continues puffing air into Mac’s mouth. He hears rapid footsteps on the pavement, then Riley appears next to him. Her eyes are huge and brimming with fear.

“Jack,” she says. “Is he—”

But Jack is too busy keeping the kid alive to talk. Mac’s mouth is cold against his, and his chest is still motionless.

Riley gently scoops up Mac’s hand, her fingers ghosting over his wrist. She visibly relaxes, then scoots closer to Jack, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let me take over for a minute,” she offers. “I’ve had CPR training. Take a break.”

Jack’s first instinct is to say no. Mac’s wellbeing is _his_ responsibility! But Riley is persistent, and he can’t say no to her. He never could. She slides in and gently detaches Jack like a leech, steering him away, and takes his place. When she breathes into Mac, his chest rises and falls neatly. But it still doesn’t move on its own.

“Come on back, buddy,” Jack says, taking up vigil next to Mac. “Come on, hoss. Don’t you do this. Don’t you do this to us…”

_“Status update, Dalton,”_ Matty says.

“He’s, uh—” Jack rubs his eyes. He feels himself starting to shake. “He’s still down, Matty. Riley’s on CPR.”

_“Understood. The paramedics are almost there, Jack. Stay calm. He’ll be okay.”_

“Yeah, he better be…”

Riley gives Mac another breath. She and Jack study his chest and find it still motionless. Jack reaches for a pulse. It’s there. Elevated but strong. Thank God.

Another breath from Riley. Then—

Mac’s back arcs off the ground. Riley jumps away as he sucks in a raw, painful breath that instantly flushes his face with color that was previously missing. Deathly blue turns pink, spreading across his cheeks like the kiss of life.

Jack is frozen like a deer in headlights. He waits until Mac takes another breath on his own before surging in, checking his eyes and neck – hell, even petting his hair like a freakin’ mother cooing over a baby with a skinned knee.

Distantly, he’s aware that Riley is talking to the paramedics; seems those late bastards finally deemed to show up. But Jack is reluctant to give Mac away, even to the professionals. And he doesn’t. Not until Mac, still gasping and coughing, meets his eyes and forces a pained smile.

Seeing that, that little miserable smile, is enough to pry Jack’s hands off him, to let him be crowded and poked and prodded by medics in white, collared shirts. To let them slip an oxygen mask over Mac’s face and huddle him onto a gurney.

Jack watches this all with only the faintest awareness of himself, hanging off to the side like a shadow. That is, until Riley touches his arm, drawing him back into himself.

“Hey,” she says softly, dark eyes searching his face. “I think they’re about to leave. They said it was okay for you to ride with Mac to the hospital. Do you want to do that?”

Jack stares. For some reason, it takes him a second to digest what she said, but when he does, he nods. “Yeah—” He shakes himself. “Yeah, thanks, Riles.”

She smiles gently and walks with him to the ambulance, taking his gun and the case of documents from Mac’s belt, promising to keep them both safe.

“Thanks,” Jack says again, pulling Riley in for a hug, which she reciprocates, nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says. “Both of you.”

Jack smiles as they pull apart. “Me too, honey.” It’s time to go, so he climbs into the back of the ambulance, sitting next to Mac, whose eyes are open now, but too bright and glassy. He’s not feeling great. Throat’s probably swollen. “See you at the hospital,” he says, and Riley nods, taking the gun and the case to the van. She’ll follow them to the ER, but not before linking up with a Phoenix recovery team to hand over the documents.

The doors shut and while the medic takes Mac’s vitals again, Jack leans in to smile at the kid.

“How you feeling, hoss?” he asks.

“I, uh—” Mac starts, but his words dissolve into a coughing fit, and the paramedic gives Jack a warning look.

“Try to rest your throat,” she tells Mac. “Don’t talk unless you absolutely have to tell me something.”

He nods, then turns an apologetic look on Jack.

“That’s all right, pal. Actually, this works better. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to talk to you without you spilling your nerd-sauce all over the conversation.”

Mac smiles under the oxygen mask, blue eyes twinkling in the low light in the back of the vehicle.

“Yeeeep,” Jack says, reclining against the wall and crossing his legs with a big, Texas grin. “This is gon’ be _sweet_.”

Mac makes a valiant effort to roll his eyes.

Jack pretends not to notice, but he does, and it’s like every muscle in his body relaxes, unwinding knots he didn’t know he had. He exhales and pats Mac’s arm.

It’s over, and they’re still okay.

Take _that_ , Cairo 2.0.


End file.
